For When a Punching Bag Won't Work
by NoaShado
Summary: ONESHOT Inside, Pogue was screaming. There was a dark wound twisting just below the surface, an infection quickly spreading until it was all he could feel.


AN: I'm kind of disappointed with the lack of Pogue centered stories, so I tried my hand at it. Don't know if I did his awesomeness justice, seeing as I kind of tortured him, but I like the idea of this fic. Not so much the execution, but still. Let me know what you think.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own the movie.

For When a Punching Bag Won't Work

By

NOASHADO

In a fit of desperate, irrational anger a punching bag was not a satisfying target. It had too much resistance to the force of a punch, unlike a person. There was no tear of flesh or snapping of a bone. No cries or curses to fuel the animalistic onslaught of violence. But most importantly, its biggest fault is that it didn't hit back.

A punching bag denied its attacker the freedom of pain. Because with every punch, every broken bone or bruise or busted lip, there was more pain on the outside then inside, and each physical wound distracted from the deeper festering of hurts Pogue didn't want to face. He swung ruthlessly at the punching bag, feeling nothing when the chains holding it up rattled furiously in return. It swung away for the span of a single breath before he slammed another punch in the abused leather. This time he didn't pause to breath before brutally attacking the bag. His knuckles were raw from the hours he had been in his parent's garage, and miniscule splatters of blood colored the dull black of the bag's surface. But it wasn't enough.

Inside, Pogue was screaming. There was a dark wound twisting just below the surface, an infection quickly spreading until it was all he could feel. Tears stung his eyes and every breath was like a weight on his chest he couldn't shake off. His head ached so much he was sure it would split any moment, but that was a mercy he knew he wouldn't receive. Not unless someone cracked it open for him.

Grinding his teeth, he altered his stance to land a powerful kick on his punching bag. A kick so forceful that it tugged at the hooks keeping it suspended from the ceiling, a small crack forming in the plaster. It was a kick that would have thrown a person several feet, had he been fighting a person like he wanted.

It just wasn't enough.

With a strangled sort of groan, he reached out and caught the bag. The bag stilled to a stop, the chains rattling in protest, and Pogue was left in the stillness, save for the harshness of his breathing that shook him with every intake. But it wasn't at rest inside of him. Now in the quiet of the room, Pogue can hear her voice. He had always liked her voice. It was light and soothing, one of the few with the power to calm him. In the early days, it was something he would stay up late, making phone calls at an hour of night when most people would be sleeping, just to hear it when he knew no one else would. His own secret peace, he liked to call it. Now though, every word he heard cut him deeper and deeper.

He had been so stupid. Gave everything he had to make her happy, but she never gave anything back. And now he was empty. Nothing left in him to give to anyone. Just a festering darkness threatening to swallow him.

Pogue bit his lip hard enough to draw blood before savagely punching the bag before him.

He gave everything he had, but it wasn't enough. Just like this wasn't enough. It was never enough. Because Kate had showed him what no one else had. _He_ wasn't enough. Wasn't a good lover. Wasn't a good friend. Too jealous and violent and dependant. He was nothing. And it killed him because he knew it was true.

His chest clenched from the onslaught of emotions causing his furious focus to slip. He stumbled, meaning to maneuver into a kick but misjudging his step. He found himself on the floor, two hundred pounds of sand and leather slamming into his face when the punching bag swung back from his sloppy punch. It hit him at an odd angle with enough force that he felt the heat of blood gush over his lips when his nose took most of the impact. And, finally, with the sudden physical pain, his tears broke free and he crumbled into himself with the force of his sobs.

"Damnit, Pogue." Suddenly there were hands at his shoulders trying to unfold him and pull him into a firm body all at once. Pogue was a rag doll under the force, his emotional exhaustion the only reason he allowed himself to be hugged like this. "You're such a stupid ass, you know that."

It was Reid. Only he could form words that were undoubtedly harsh, but subtly affectionate. It was also heavily worried, but Pogue couldn't find it in himself to care. He saw the blur of fingers brushing against the blood on his upper lip, but he couldn't feel it. There was a hand pushing his hair back, he knew, but he was just too numb. He felt the chest his head lay against, Reid's would be the logical guess, rise with steady breaths, and watched distantly as worn sneakers walked into his line of vision. Then Tyler was crouching in front of him, tilting his head up to lock hazel with soft brown. Tyler's eyes flashed black for a fraction of a second and then the pain in his face was gone. Pogue frowned in discontent.

"You shouldn't be usin' Baby Boy. Caleb would have your ass if he knew." He mumbled. A rude snort sounded from just above his head and Tyler smiled sardonically in response.

"Actually I don't think he would mind. And I wouldn't really care if he did." Then the smile fell and his eyes bled with concern. "You ok?"

"Don't be stupid, Moron." Reid scoffed, his tone harsher then he meant it to be. But Tyler knew it was because he was scared. Neither of them had seen the biker like this, and neither of them knew how to fix it. They knew what they wanted to do, but beating up a girl wasn't going to make Pogue any better, even if hurting Kate would make _them_ feel better. "Does he look ok to you?"

Pogue pushed away from the safety of his little brother's arms, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the rest of the blood from his face. The blood glistened darkly on the leather, catching Tyler's eyes and causing a worried pit to form in the hallow of his stomach. The last time they saw blood on that jacket, they hadn't been sure if Pogue would live. Tyler swallowed thickly, forcing his eyes into neutral territory. Which in this case happened to be the angry blue of Reid's eyes. On second thought, maybe they weren't so neutral. Reid had looked this lost and desperate on that night as well.

"I'm fine." Pogue whispered, his voice too raw for him to be any louder.

"Right," Reid rolled his eyes. He fixed Pogue with a fierce glare before shoving his hands in the pocket of his jacket. They itched to reach out and grab Pogue again, but he knew that wouldn't go over so well. Instead, he clenched them into tight fists in order to keep the urge down. "That's not what Caleb said, and that's definitely not what we think."

From the confused glance Pogue shot him, Tyler gave a small smile. "Kate called Sara when they were at the restaurant. She was still angry, probably calling to whine to the one person who'd give her the time of day." Tyler growled darkly, his anger showing for a brief moment before he got it under control. "As soon as Caleb was told the story, he took off. He called us when he was driving, because we were closer, I guess."

"Yeah, scared us to hell with the way he sounded." Reid filled in, "He was worried. And he had right to be. Soon as we got here you do your damnedest to break your nose." What would have happened if they hadn't showed up when they did, when Pogue was shattering on the floor of his parent's garage, Reid really rather not think about.

Pogue looked to the punching bag, the pain inside stirring from the mention of his ex's name. He finally noticed the specks of blood and felt guilt for reacting the way he did, for scaring his little brothers the way he had. Kate wasn't worth this. "Look I'm fine. You guys don't need to be here. Call Caleb and tell him to go back. It's Sara's birthday. He should be with her."

Reid frowned and Tyler's heart hurt. They hated how Pogue hid from them. As if his pain wasn't important to them. Reid opened his mouth to argue, but the words he meant to say were stolen before he could.

"Don't be stupid." All three boys looked up to see Caleb walk in through the door. Light flooded in with the opening of the door, and the distinct sound of a car's engine could be heard disturbing the night. His hair was windblown and his jacket rumpled. He had obviously been in a hurry. Jumped right out of his car without bothering to turn it off. Pogue frowned up at him while the other's suppressed a sigh of relief. Caleb walked swiftly up to the boys on the ground, gracefully falling to sit between Tyler and Pogue, completing the circle of teenage boys on the cold cement of the garage. "Family comes first. Always. And if Sara doesn't understand that then I guess we weren't meant to be."

Pogue ran a hand through his hair, eyes unable to lift from the ground. "You don't mean that."

Caleb flashed him a comforting smile, slinging an arm over his shoulders. "Don't I?"

Then Reid leaned in to swing his own arm around him, shortly fallowed by the youngest of the group. "We're exactly where we want to be." He said, in a tone unusually serious.

Kate had made him feel like he was nothing. Treated him like he was nothing, and because he loved her, he had allowed her to use him. Somewhere along the line, she broke him, and Pogue sees this now. It was not his fault she had slept around. It was because of her. There was nothing wrong with him, or else these three boys, the most important people in his life and three of the most amazing guys he knew, wouldn't care so much about him. Pogue looked at each of them, thanking whatever God was listening that he was gifted a family like this, and shoved himself from the ground. The other's rose with him, completely in sync. "Well, if you guys are gonna stay here, we might as well go inside." He turned to the door, not waiting for their responses, already knowing they weren't going to leave him tonight. And he was grateful. Because the hurt was still there, twisting inside of him and threatening to engulf him if he wasn't careful.

A warm hand on his shoulder stopped him; he glanced over his shoulder to lock gazes with his best friend. "She didn't deserve you, Pogue." Caleb told him, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze.

Pogue gave them all a small smile. "I know." Then, with his brother's at his back, he left the garage, shrouding it in lonely darkness with the ghostly echo of Reid and Tyler's bickering to fill its sudden void. The punching bag hung, forgotten and ignored.

In a moment of crippling, unbearable pain, a punching bag was insufficient comfort. It was cold and uncaring. It wouldn't play with a seductive power that threatened to ruin you just to fix your bloody nose or ignore its own unease to hold you or risk a speeding ticket and its first important relationship just to be there for you.

It was a good thing Pogue had his brothers for all the things his punching bag couldn't fix.

AN: Somewhere along the line, my muse kind of switched courses. This was meant to be really angsty, but it turned out unbearably fluffy… =_=; It is what it is, I guess. Feedback would be wonderful.


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